


Sleeping With Sirens

by FeelsForBreakfast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is the veela with tattoos up his arms and Harry is the punk rocker who most certainly hasn’t been staring at him all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did mean veela like those in Harry Potter and yes this is *technically* in the HP universe. Anyway, enjoy! (:

By all rights, he should look stupid. He’s perched up on the bar like he owns the place, bright red high tops that look like they’ve seen better days and black skinny jeans that could be painted to his skin. The bar is smoky and hot, and Harry is sweating in his leather jacket, the chains on his red jeans clashing as he walks, a beer in hand.

The Weird Sisters are making their way through the 9 minute long, thrashing anthem that is This Is The Night; It’s loud and the screams are louder as they continue with what is less music and more guitar riffs and anguished screaming. It’s reaching Harry’s favorite part of the evening, where he’s just buzzed enough to feel weightless and high enough that the wails of the scrawny kid on the microphone turn poignant in the musky air. 

“Who’s that?” Zayn’s voice is loud in his ear and he’s smiling wide, his eyeliner smudged down underneath his eyes, piercings glittering in the low light.

“Who’s who?” Harry asks, like he hasn’t been staring at the same tattooed demon the entire night. He can’t be a wizard, not looking like that, and Harry has been studiously avoiding him. He doesn’t have all that much experience with dark magical beings, but he’s pretty sure that the petite creature perched on the bar is one of them, and he isn’t entirely sure that if it became necessary, he could run away even if he wanted to.

“You know who I’m talking about.” Zayn replies, poking him in the side.

Harry makes a face at him, stumbling back as he trips over his doc martens. “Not sure.”

“Such a blushing beauty, you are.” Zayn teases him, flicking his lip ring with his tongue. “Go talk to him. He’s not my type but…” He whistles long and low, barely audible over the music. “Damn.”

Harry shakes his head. “No more pretty boys for me.”

Zayn scoffs, giving a truly fantastic roll of his eyes. “You lying bastard. You can’t resist.”

Harry scowls, flicking Zayn off with a polished fingernail, striding over to the far side of the bar to prove his point. He can resist. He will.

It doesn’t really help that this kid, whoever he is, is actually disgustingly gorgeous. He’s got fringe that really should look preppy but doesn’t somehow and kohl lined eyes that glitter when he narrows them. He leans back easily on the bar, bony shoulders and arms covered in tattoos. There’s a full sleeve on his right one, and Harry wonders what sort of things he has inked there. He wonders if the boy would mind him tracing the lines of it. 

He shakes the thoughts from his head, focusing on the band and not the crush of doe eyed people crowded around the boy, girls and guys alike. It’s pathetic, and he’s not going to be a part of it. 

He would have been perfectly happy to stand by the stage and half-heartedly hit on some pink haired girl all night if two unfortunate things hadn’t happened in rapid succession. The first unfortunate thing involves getting to the bottom of his lukewarm beer, meaning that he has to look over at the bar, and the second is catching sight of Niall making eyes at his mystery boy. Well, not his mystery boy. The mystery boy. The mystery boy he has absolutely no claim over whatsoever. 

He swears violently underneath his breath and heads over purely because he needs something more to drink and for no other reasons whatsoever. It’s just that once he gets close he can see the way Niall is pitched forward, all pink cheeks and long pale limbs and black tipped blonde hair, and it makes his insides twist unhappily. 

There’s something almost feral in the way the boy leans down to Niall, pink lips parted and wet, eyes dangerous. He’s small, like the fairies in children’s books, and Harry wonders if maybe he’s part fey, if fairies like those actually exist. He didn’t really pay quite as much attention in Defense Against The Dark Arts as he’s like to have himself believe, so he really has pretty much no idea. If they weren’t knocking out their opponents he probably wasn’t listening. 

Before he really knows what he’s doing, he can feel himself pressing past the group of people pretending not to watch the boy and up to where Niall is leaning against the bar. The boy is saying something and Niall is laughing and he feels all ugly inside for reasons he doesn’t want to explain. Suddenly everything is too much and not enough and he knows he shouldn’t want to punch Niall but he really really wants to, so he just clenches his fists and butts into the conversation.

“Hey Nialler, who’s your friend?”

Niall doesn’t look away from his tanned companion, teeth biting his bottom lip. “His name’s Louis. I was just telling about our record that sold 70 trillion copies. You remember right, Apathetic Hurricane? The one we performed at the Puddlemere and Irish National Quidditch Match?” Apathetic Hurricane is the EP that their absolutely crap punk rock band Lipstick Zombie released sometime back in December, which had sold nowhere near 1 trillion copies, much less 70. 

There’s a moment where Harry is too stunned to even be jealous and then another where he realizes exactly what’s going on. Harry sighs, rubbing Niall on the shoulder and turning to look at Louis, who’s smirking at them like they’re his next meal. He knows it’s coming, but he’s still not prepared for the overwhelming want that pours through his veins at the the sharp look in the other boy’s gray blue eyes. They’re hypnotic and they make Harry feel warm when they’re on him, like he’d do anything to keep himself in their gaze.

He takes a deep breath and tries to look composed. “Hey veela boy, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t eat up poor Niall here.”

The veela, because really how did Harry not figure that out sooner, cocks his head, peering at Harry through long black eyelashes. There’s a thin line of silver glitter on his upper lid and a smudge of navy eyeliner underneath and it makes his eyes look even more blue as they flick over Harry’s body, lazy and appraising.

“I wasn’t going to eat him.” He says innocently, reaching out to touch Niall’s flushed face with delicate fingers, the studded bracelets on his arm sliding down to his elbow. His voice is soft but it drifts through the din easily, gravely tones making Harry’s blood run hot. “Just mess him about a little.” 

He gives a tiny little condescending smile, stroking his fingers across Niall cheek as the blonde practically purrs under his fingers. He’s rough like the sound of his voice and the holes ripped into his jeans and sharp like the studs on his bracelets and the industrial in his ear. He glitters too, his eyeliner, the crystal of his eyes, and the snakebites underneath his bottom lip that Harry wants to tug on with his teeth. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, he’s just a good friend who doesn’t need some veela prince messing him about.” Harry replies, finding that its getting easier to control himself. He can still feel it, the overwhelming urge to make Louis pay attention to him, to make Louis want him, but he’s moving into his element now. He doesn’t have to make up stories to make Louis watch him, he just has to be the only one he can’t reel in. He just has to make Louis try.

“Quarter-veela.” Louis replies sagely, picking at his red nail polish, flecks falling into the floor like dried blood. “Not that anyone’s cared.”

“Makes sense.” Harry replies, sticking his hands into his back pockets and shrugging his wide shoulders. “I thought you were a bit easy to resist.”

Louis shakes his head slowly, hands leaving Niall’s cheek to cross over his chest. He just sits there for a moment, then raises a finger to his lips, tracing the dark line of his bottom one. “I think this is probably a good time to tell you I’m just getting started.”

Harry smiles. “I’d hope so. I was getting a little disappointed.”

Louis smiles wickedly. “You’re a liar.”

“Am I?” Harry asks, feigning innocence, daring Louis to call his bluff.

“I’ve been watching you all night.” He says, picking up his beer and taking a slow swig. His cheeks hollow out for a moment, cheekbones in sharp relief, and his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Watching you watching me.” He smirks, sliding down off the bar with deliberate slowness so his biceps flex, tattoos shifting as he does. “You’re anything but disappointed.”

“You caught me.” Harry replies, shifting closer to Louis of his own accord. He’s almost magnetic, hypnotizing in a way that’s making him slowly lose his mind.

Louis leans closer, breath ticking Harry’s lips as he moves into his space. “Haven’t I?”

“Hey Louis did I-” Niall begins, only to have Louis place a finger against his lips. 

“You can tell me when I get back, alright love?” He says kindly, blue gray eyes still holding Harry’s. 

Harry is aware of Niall nodding in his periphery, but all he can really focus on is Louis and trying to keep oxygen flowing in and out of his body. 

“So do you want to head outside or should I just take you on the floor?” Louis whispers into his ear, his stubble rough against Harry’s cheek when their skin brushes. It sends a shiver up Harry’s spine and he remembers his earlier thought about not being able to run away even if he wanted to. At this point, he can’t run away. He really doesn’t want to. He still doesn’t know if that’s dangerous yet.

“Outside probably.” He says, despite the large part of him that just wants to snog Louis senseless up against this stupid bar. “Floor’s a bit sticky.”

“Don’t really mind being sticky, to be honest.” Louis says, threading their fingers together, Harry’s large hands eating up Louis’ as he pulls him through the bar and out the side door. “Though I’d hate to ruin my hair.”

“I’d love to ruin your hair.” Harry replies, tearing his gaze from Louis to look around the alley, clearing his head for a moment. There’s a light over the door that illuminates the grimy alleyway in a cone of orange, but other than that it’s completely dark. A few smokers nod at them as Louis pulls him further into the dark, their eyes lingering just a little longer than they should.

“Cheeky.” Louis stops, looking up at the cloudy darkness above them. “You couldn’t ruin my hair if you tried.”

Harry presses himself up against the brick, the pleasant August night creeping under his tee shirt. He thinks that sounds like a delicious challenge. “No, probably not.” Harry reaches out, fingers hovering over Louis’ neck. “Can I?”

Louis tilts his chin back, exposing the wing tattoos that curve down the sides of his neck. They’re black and curling, more bird than angel, and Harry wants to mouth over them, ask him why he got them inked onto his skin. Ask him what he’s flying away from, what he wants to fly to. 

Harry takes his stillness as affirmation, running his fingers down the column of Louis’ throat, smooth skin against his fingertips. “I still don’t know your name.” Louis says, the words thrumming under Harry’s touch. 

“I’m Harry.” He supplies, pulling his hand back to look down at Louis, who is watching him with those sharp blue eyes. 

Louis leans forward, stepping into Harry’s space so their bodies knock against each other. “Hi Harry.”

Harry’s eyes shift closed, a raggedy breath escaping his mouth. “I like the way my name sounds in your mouth.” He says before he can wonder if that’s even something that sane people say. He’s pretty sure it isn’t.

Louis leans in, brushing their lips together. “Has anyone told you that you are very very pretty?”

Harry ducks forward to catch Louis’ mouth with his, but the other boy seems to predict his movement, moving back so he misses. “I’ve heard it before.” He says, realizing that Louis is actually waiting for a reply.

“You could sink ships with a face like that.” Louis says, bringing his hands to Harry’s waist, curling his fingers against the soft cotton of his tee shirt. His grip is sure, fingers digging into soft skin and hard muscle.

He nods, ducking forward again because damnit he’s so close to him and Louis’ eyes keep glittering and he just wants to lose himself in his mouth and the feel of his hands.

“You’re so eager.” Louis observes with a lazy glint in his eyes. He reaches up, tracing a hand down Harry’s cheek and smiling when his breath stalls in his throat. 

Harry pushes against the touch, eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Can’t help it.”

That makes Louis smile, a delicious grin that stretches his lips and shows off his top teeth. “I know.” And then he’s kissing him, lips warm and urgent against Harry’s. He can feel his muscles loosening as Louis runs his hands into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands in a way that makes him go pliant against the wall.

Harry gets his hands up underneath Louis’ tee shirt, feeling the skin underneath the baggy cotton, soft hips and sharp shoulder blades that stick out of his back like bony pinions, shifting as he presses up against Harry. 

Harry sags back against the wall, pulling Louis against him. The veela boy kisses with a purpose, tongue delving into Harry’s mouth like he wants to taste him, hands moving from his hair to his back and then up to his hair again in some attempt to feel all of him.

Louis pulls back a little, running his tongue over Harry’s lip ring, smiling when it makes Harry’s eyes go that little bit darker. Louis leans back in, taking the metal between his teeth and pulling, Harry going weak at the knees.

His cock is pressed tight against his zipper, and it’s a bit of an internal struggle actually, because he wants to get a hand down his pants but he also really wants to keep his hands on Louis’ back. He spends about ten seconds grappling with the problem before realizing it’s just not the kind of decision he really has the brain capacity to make, so he just whines under his breath as Louis sucks on his bottom lip. 

Louis pauses, opening his eyes to look up at Harry, pupils blown so the blue in his eyes is barely a sliver. “You really can’t help it, can you?”

Harry looks down at him, wishing he’s stop talking and kiss him, and not entirely sure how to make that happen. “Can’t help what?”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, just raises an almost reverent hand to cup Harry’s jaw, smiling when he pushes into the movement. “Reacting. You play it so cool but your body betrays you. You can barely breathe, can you?”

Harry shrugs, even though the answer is most definitely no. His lungs feel all tight, his breathing ragged and uneven ever since Louis got his lips on him. Louis just laughs, a low gravelly sound that might be his undoing. 

“Don’t worry, babe.” Louis says, pressing his forehead to Harry’s, slipping his hands into his backpockets. “It’s hot.”

Harry just nods, pressing his lips back to Louis’ and pulling him so their bodies are flush. He knows Louis can feel him through his jeans, but at this point he doesn’t really give a shit if Louis knows he wants him. It’s not exactly a secret.

Louis grinds up against him, pushing him back against the brick with each rut of his slim hips. Harry lets out a soft moan at the movement, Louis’ cock hard against his, slim fingers working at his buttons. 

It feels dirty like this, the music leaking out from underneath the door, the smokers watching the shadows they’re hiding in out of the corner of their eyes, and Harry is trying so hard to be quiet but he can’t stop the soft noises that escape his lips every time Louis brushes against his cock.

“Think I could make you come for me?” Louis breathes into his ear, his voice curling into Harry’s brain like a drug, smoke seeping into the crevices and making him faint. He can almost remember something about veela magic, that their voices could make the best men hold their heads under water until they drowned. He believes it now, the soft cadence of Louis’ voice like a lullaby, like a promise, like the moon hanging in the coal black sky and lighting him up. It’s the water filling his lungs as he holds his head underwater. 

“Yeah.” He gasps out, fingers curling against Louis’s shoulderblades, still sharp like his tongue and soft like his lips, and he’s losing it. He can feel heat coiling up inside him, monsters crawling around in his bones as he grips him tight. Louis is his anchor in the storm, but he’s the storm too, lightning in his eyes and thunder underneath his skin.

“You’re so close.” Louis says, grinding Harry against the wall, tugging his hair and sucking against his neck, sensitive skin going red under his teeth. It’s too much really, the water filling his brain as he lets Louis kiss him, kiss him and whisper nonsense in his ear as desire makes it’s home in his stomach. 

“Come for me.” Louis growls against Harry’s ear after a few more minutes of kissing and touching and learning the crevices of each other’s bodies, and it’s less of a suggestion and more of a command. Harry’s breath stops, his mind taking a moment to catch up to the words as he pulls Louis to him, curling himself so his lips are pressed to Louis’ neck, teeth biting down on his skin as his hips cant up to Louis’ and he goes over the edge.

It’s even better than he thought it would be, back arching off the wall, a broken cry falling from his lips against the skin of Louis’ neck, fingers pressing into his back. When he finally floats back into his skin he’s breathing hard, clutching Louis to him like a lifeline as he presses kisses to the sparrows he has inked to the skin there.

“You’re so good.” Louis says softly, losing his air of cocky assurance as he sags against Harry’s body, petting his hair with careful fingers.

Harry can’t fight the little smile that curls across his face. He still feels all loose and hazy, but warm in the aftermath. It’s still grimy in the alleyway but Louis’ eyelids are glittering and so are his eyes and its making it heart hurt in the best way. “Thankyou.”

Louis looks up at him with glassy eyes that match his. “It was my pleasure.”

“Wait, you?” Harry asks brokenly, looking down at Louis own unzipped jeans.

Louis laughs softly, ducking his head. “You bit my shoulder, how could I not?”

Harry lets out a soft gust of laughter, burying his face in Louis’ neck as he tries to hide his flushed cheeks. Louis just holds him for a minute or two, cologne and sweat somehow comforting as his fingers rub soothing circles against Harry’s back.

Louis pulls away first, waving his hand a bit and murmuring something under his breath. Harry can feel a tingling warmth descend over him as the spell takes effect, the sweat on his brow drying as the magic cleans him up. “Cool spell.” Harry observes lamely, mostly just for something to say, wondering where this leaves them, wondering if maybe he’s supposed to head back inside and forget this whole thing, but knowing he really doesn’t want to.

Louis nods, digging in his back pocket for a half crushed pack of cigarettes. “Making casual hookups easier since 2010.” He says with a wry grin, pulling his wand from his pocket and lighting his cigarette with a green spark. The ember stays green as he takes a pull and then blows emerald smoke rings into the night. 

Harry says nothing, just watches as he leans up against the wall opposite him, a half smile resting on his delicate features. The novelty hasn’t worn off yet, he’s still as infuriatingly gorgeous as the moment Harry laid eyes on him. “Can I ask you a question?” He asks after a long moment, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

Louis shrugs, tapping ash onto the ground. “Sure.”

“Have you ever been in love?” And the original question was ‘have you ever had a boyfriend’ but he’s a little bit drunk and its not his fault his brain got sidetracked halfway through.

Louis just takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a long angry gust, looking up at the sky so the wings are visible again. “Love is an incorrect concept.”

And its such a preposterous answer that Harry can’t help but laugh, a smile breaking across his face. “Love isn’t an incorrect concept, it just is.”

“I believe in infatuation. I believe that sometimes people think they’re in love. But people don’t just love one another, not like in stories, not really.” He doesn’t look at Harry when he says it, the words sounding wrong in his lovely mouth. 

“Well shit.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you don’t believe in love, what chance do the rest of us have?”

“You’ve got the chance to find someone who isn’t just looking for a hypnotic voice and a pretty face. You can get someone to care about you, not just someone who wants you.” The subtext is there. I can’t. 

“I’m sorry you think that.” Harry says, because he thinks that maybe the reason Louis hasn’t found love is because he doesn’t believe in it, doesn’t think it believes in him. “It’s not true.”

Louis smiles, pushing himself off the wall and walking back into Harry’s space, pressing his still lit cigarette into his fingers. “You’re sweet.”

He examines Harry for a moment, ice blue eyes sharp and fierce. There’s beat where he thinks Louis is going to kiss him, but he just lets out a tiny sigh instead and the moment passes. “Maybe I’ll see you again, Harry. I liked you.”

And then he’s sauntering away, slim hips and slim shoulders, the packet of cigarettes sticking out of his back pocket. He apparates with a crack just before he reaches the light, and for a moment it looks like he’s simply dissolved into the orange glow.

Harry watches the space where he disappeared, taking small puffs from the cigarette until its completely down to the filter and trying desperately to get those blue eyes out of his head. 

He doesn’t think he really wants to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is the veela with tattoos up his arms and Harry is the punk rocker who most certainly hasn’t been staring at him all night. The chapter in which Harry nearly drowns himself in coffee and Louis plays piano. Things get sexy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got my ass in gear and actually wrote a second chapter, go me! (:

It’s after Zayn confronts Harry on the kitchen floor at four in the morning for the third night in the row, guitar in his lap, notebook on the floor, curls ragged, fingers nearly bleeding, that Harry first begins to realize he has a problem. 

“Harry, how many cups of coffee have you had?” Zayn asks, leaning against the doorframe and running nicotine stained fingers through his bedhead.

“Six.” He answers quickly, violently crossing on a line of music, shaking out his curls. He tried to sleep, honestly he did, but somehow he ended up here again, scrawling out his waking dreams on flimsy paper.

“I’m pretty sure that’s medically dangerous.” Zayn says, crossing the yellowed tile to sit in front of Harry, examining him. “You look like hell ate you and then spat you back out again.”

Harry makes a non-comital grunt, picking out something low and angry sounding on the quiet strings of his electric, the cord connected to the body of the guitar but the amp nowhere to be found. 

Zayn reaches out, pulling the hem of his tee shirt. “Hey, you still with me?”

Harry nods. “Yep.”

Zayn sighs, resting his hand on Harry’s thigh, rubbing soothing circles against his skin. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been all weird since Friday.”

Harry just shakes his head, leaning back against the cabinets. “I’m going to lose my fucking mind, Zayn. I am losing my fucking mind.”

“You’re so overdramatic.” Zayn says, but there’s a little bit of truth to what Harry’s saying. “It was that veela kid wasn’t it.” He says, finding confirmation in the way Harry’s eyes light up a little bit, a desperate gleam in them, his hands clenching around his guitar. “Jesus what did he do to you?” Zayn pulls Harry’s notebook from the floor, flipping through pages of messy lyrics and chords and doodles.

“Have you ever wanted something really really badly? So bad it like, it hurts?”

Zayn nods, and his eyes flicker down like he’s guilty and Harry remembers belatedly that they don’t talk about that, because Zayn has wanted the same boy very very badly since he was thirteen. He’s a sweet athletic Gryffindor and Zayn is dirty and grunge and it’s a match made in the fiery outskirts of hell and they do not ever talk about it. “Yeah I have.”

Harry touches the tips of Zayn’s fingers in apology, staring up at the ceiling. “I want him like that.” He heaves in a breath.

“This is why you don’t fuck around with veela.” Zayn says tiredly, picking up Harry’s half empty coffee cup and pouring the lukewarm remains into their cluttered sink. “They make you fucking insane.”

“I’m not insane.”

“Harry you wrote an entire album in three days because of a one off in an alleyway.” Zayn chides, setting the cup on a pile of plates. “Just forget about him, okay?”

“I tried.” Harry replies, letting his guitar slide to the ground and curling up into a ball by the stove. “He was interesting. Nothing is interesting anymore.”

Zayn shakes his head fondly, looking down at Harry’s curl of sadness. “You’re my little apathetic kitten.”

Harry juts let out a sad moan. The thing is, he knows just how shit he’s being. He’s gone from Charming Hurricane Styles to Whiny Tropical Storm of Sadness and he has absolutely no willpower to pick himself back up again. 

It’s just, Louis was incredible. It felt like all his life he’d been trying to swim through a world that was so much less than what he wanted, trying to find some meaning that never presented itself. Everyone was so easy for him to play with and he barely needed his Slytherin ambition because the world gave itself to him and all he really wanted was someone to shove him around, to tear him apart so he wouldn’t have to. 

“He said that love was an incorrect concept.” He says instead in lieu of getting those words out.

“I did see that song.” Zayn says, nodding at the notebook. 

“I just want to touch him again. Shit Zayn, shit.” Harry sits up, dropping his head between his knees and hissing. “I need to fucking pull myself together.”

“Yes you do.” Zayn nods, shuffling over to Harry and holding his arms out. “Do you want to watch crap television with me while the caffeine works through your system?”

Harry nods pathetically, letting Zayn pull him up. “Yes, please.”

“We’re going to have a serious talk in the morning.” Zayn says as they walk over to their muggle tellie, Zayn tugging Harry down onto the patched fabric of the sofa. 

“Okay.” Harry replies, cuddling up into Zayn’s side. If Harry is being honest, he has no idea what he’s going to do about this. The thing is, whatever dark demon magic Louis has thrumming in his bones has been kissed onto Harry’s lips and he can’t get it off now, no matter how many serious talks he has with Zayn.

He has Louis’ siren song stuck in his mouth.

xx

Harry does get back to normal, mostly because Zayn gets tired of dealing with his shit and because he does actually have to get some sleep if he’s going to keep his job. Still, he can’t keep the album from running through his head, the angsty choruses and breathy verses that may or may not be about a certain grey eyed boy. 

He calls it Ink Yourself Wings And Fly Back To Me and he can’t stop humming its melodies as he scans library cards and checks out piles of books to old ladies and screaming children.

Working at the library is not a bad job, as jobs go, though he does get a few disapproving looks for the sketchbook of tattoos on his arms, the stud in his nose, and the ring on his lip. Despite that, it certainly has it perks: it’s quiet, pays decently, and Bernice, the sweet old lady at the reference desk, is a notorious gossip who makes fantastic cookies. All he has to do is show up, smile, and dress like he isn’t homeless. And if the latter requirement doesn’t happen, well he’s probably not going to get fired.

“Are you composing or working, Beethoven?” Bernie asks as she walks past him with a pile of books in her arms.

“How about a little bit of both?” He replies, continuing to sort through the recent returns. “I’m a multi-tasker, you know me.”

“I know you think you’re a multi-tasker. I also know that you just put a DVD on the children’s book cart.” She replies, giving him a look over the top of her bright red frames. Bernie is stern and motherly, but she’s easily one of the coolest, sassiest people he’s ever met. For her birthday last year he gave her one of the Lipstick Zombie tee shirts they had printed, and sometimes she wears it over her slacks on casual Fridays.

“Sorry, I’m distracted as shit today.” He says, returning the DVD to its proper spot as he shakes out his mess of hair.

“Language.” She replies, even though he’s heard her mutter a good number of fucks under her breath.

“Again, sorry.”

“It’s that boy again isn’t.” She says, pausing at her computer. “The one you told me about on Monday. Did you not even think to get his phone number?”

He just shakes his head, not feeling like telling her that most people in his world don’t know how to operate cell phones, much less have them.

The thing about the wizarding world is that its actual kindof shitty. Yeah, sure, magic is all fine and dandy until you realize that working in the ministry is not actually that cool and that running a shop in Diagon Alley is totally not an economically sustainable business option. The thing is, Harry was on track to be an auror. He had all the recommendations and grades and so naturally he dropped out two weeks before graduation, formed a punk band, and started working at a library.

“His phone number was not a conversation topic that was raised.” He says instead of the full story, because even though she doesn’t ask about the wooden stick he keeps in his right pocket she’s probably going to think he’s mental if he says he’s a wizard.

“Well whose fault is that?” She asks, giving him a disapproving look. “And now you’re moping around here like a kicked puppy.”

“I’m not a kicked puppy.” He protests weakly, but the comparison is annoyingly apt. A big part of him wishes he wasn’t so transparent, that everything he felt wasn’t always written on his face. He was always so good at this in school, charming the pants off people, literally, if he wanted to. It’s not as easy as it used to be. It turns out real life is way harder than getting 7th years out of their robes.

Her face softens, going all motherly on him. “Don’t look like that. If it’s meant to be you’ll find him again.”

He smiles. “Thanks Ms. B.”

“There’s oatmeal raisin in the breakroom.” She says in reply as she brushes past him.

“You’re the best!” He calls as she disappears into the stacks, feeling a little bit less like a wet rag than he did before. It’s not like they live in different countries, there’s certainly a possibility he’ll see Louis again. A good one, even.

It’s not like he’s ever really believed in fate. Luck? Sure. Karma? Maybe. But fate seemed so contrived, something that people created to help themselves sleep at night. Pureblood wizards with half-famous older sisters and reputations don’t need fate to help them out.

But just this once, he thinks he might be able to give it a chance.

xx

Novelty

n. pl. no-vel-ties

1\. the quality of being new and fresh and interesting

a small usually cheap new toy, ornament, or trinket  
xx

Fate, and a veela boy, they might be the same thing, appear on Wednesday, three weeks later. 

“Hey Liam, you got slinkys in?” Harry calls as he pushes through the glass doors of the music store, the bell jingling as he lugs his guitar through. “Raz broke a string.”

Liam looks up from behind the front desk, acoustic sitting in his lap. “Poor baby.” He pulls a face. “I think I have them in.”

“The ones I like? The tens?” He confirms, as Liam rests his own guitar against the wall, leading him back towards the workbench.

“Harry you come here like twice a month, I know what strings you want.” He says, sliding around the back and pulling the pack from the wall. Liam, while not the least bit punk in his snapback, baggy jeans, and helpful smile, is a genuinely nice person. He’s more ‘acoustic covers of pop songs’ than Harry will ever be so-help-him-god, but he was a former Hogwarts kid of the Gryffindor variety and so Harry happens to like him quite a bit. 

The music store he works at specializes in mixing modern music technology with magic, and it’s where they’ve gotten most of the stuff for the band. It’s only lack of motivation that keeps him from applying for a part time position, as the discount would probably allow him to eat something other than Ramen for lunch every day.

“Thanks Li, you’re fantastic.” He says with a grin as he unclasps his case, sliding out the fuschia glory that is Rose.

Liam rolls his eyes. “I know, you tell me so every time you need something.”

“You’d go out of business without me.” Harry replies in response, sticking his pinkie finger though his gauges so Liam will make a face.

“That’s disgusting.” Liam replies, looking down at his guitar instead, the B string hanging free in a lazy curling loop.

“It’s hardcore.” Harry replies, leaning on the glass countertop and giving Liam his best smile. 

“You’re such a dork.” Liam replies fondly, going to work on his strings. “You don’t have to watch me. Go look around, drool over guitars you can’t afford.”

“Oh fuck off.” Harry replies, flicking Liam on the nose before turning toward the racks of guitars he can’t afford, looking for any new arrivals.

He’s examining a gorgeous Les Paul when a piano melody starts up behind him, two quick pounds of keys that devolve into a trickling song. It’s almost haunting, but there’s a brightness to it too, and Harry looks around, trying to figure out who’s playing. There’s a grand piano at the front of the store, a big great black monstrosity that Liam let him play chopsticks on once, but his plunking never sounded like this.

He creeps around the stands of music books, discreetly peering around the side to try and catch a glimpse of the pianist, finding an alarmingly familiar face when he does. He’s careful not to be seen as he watches, trying to ignore the curling in his stomach at the sight of the veela boy, somehow more beautiful and terrible than he remembered. 

The thing is, he isn’t even that surprised to find him here. It’s less like disbelief and more like finding what’s he’s been waiting for, the pleased uplift of seeing the warm light of his train coming down the tracks, the thing that will take him to the places he needs to go.

He looks lovely in the afternoon light, softer and more raw, eyes squeezed nearly shut as his fingers walk the keys. He’s curled over the ivory, a beanie shoved over his head and a baggy white tee shirt hanging on his shoulders and Harry just wants to touch him, to breathe him and remember what that was like.

He does this thing where he sort of rocks with the rhythm of the music, one foot tapping out the quarter notes as he moves ever so slightly with the pulse of the song. There’s a moment where Harry wonders if he’s hallucinating, if this is the result of his relentless pining, if Louis is here at all. 

It’s only Liam coming up behind him that makes him look up and shocks him from his reverie. “You’re blocking the way, Harry.” 

Harry whirls, pressing his back against the rack and giving his best guileless smile. “Oh. Um, sorry.”

Liam laughs as he heads back over to the counter, picking a clipboard up from where he’s rested it. “Taken a sudden interest in the piano?”

“It’s a nice piano.” Harry replies sullenly, hoping that if he continues to hide maybe Louis won’t notice him. It’s pretty stupid really, all this yearning and now he’s too afraid to even look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, sure it is.” Liam replies with a fair bit of mockery, pushing past him and returning to where he’s working on his guitar.

Harry flips him off, going back to his staring routine. 

When Louis speaks a minute later without glancing up from his playing, Harry nearly jumps out of skin. “You don’t have to hide. I’m not going to bite you.” 

He slides out into view, taking a few slow steps toward him. “Sorry. I was just, listening.”

“I know.” He’s less intimidating than he was at the show, less feral and more reposed, and Harry can’t tell if he likes it or not.

“You’re very good. It’s beautiful.”

Louis shrugs, a delicate lift and drop of his shoulders that barely interrupts his song. “You know, I was kindof hoping I wouldn’t see you again.”

Harry pauses, kicking the toe of his scuffed up Doc Martens against the ground. “Oh.”

“It’s nothing personal.” Louis replies, the song trickling out, getting softer and softer. “I’m just very tempted to keep you. And that wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

“No, probably not.” Harry concedes, because he’s already established that Louis is bad for him. Louis is dynamic, he’s shiny and seductive and he gives off an energy that Harry wants more than anything. Even if Louis has always struck him as the moon rather than the sun, maybe he should keep his distance anyway, lest his wax wings melt and leave him tumbling. 

The song peters out, the last few notes barely audible as he finishes, resting his fingers on the keys even after he’s done. “If I asked you to come home with me could you say no?”

“Probably not.” He admits, though he could try. He’d be willing to try if that was what Louis wanted him to do. He’s gotten better at this, fighting the strange pull he feels in his veins when their eyes meet, and it’s not that he doesn’t want Louis, but that he isn’t completely helpless now. Not completely.

Louis nods. “Come sit by me.”

Harry holds his ground, feet planted firmly on the carpet. “No?” 

“That wasn’t a test.” Louis says, an almost smile on his face that doesn’t seem to know what it’s doing there.

“But if it was, would I have passed?” He responds, because it feels like they’re playing a game, even though he has no idea what the objective is, never mind the rules. 

“Not sure.” Louis responds. He’s less magnetic now, Harry concedes, and he wonders if maybe that aura was just a ploy, a haze he hid behind. Just what he did to get what he wanted.

“Why did you get wings on your neck?” Harry asks, keeping his distance, keeping himself safe. 

“I call them my bird gills.” Louis says instead of a real answer, running a finger down the feathers, down the tendons of his neck. 

Harry cracks a smile at that. “I like them a lot.”

“Me too.” Louis says, leaning his elbow on the piano like it was put there just for that purpose. “You seem deceptively nice, Harry.”

“Sorry?” Harry asks, feeling a tiny dip of nerves in his stomach that’s close to want. Louis is doing that thing again, his eyes going intense like he’s hidden the whole moon behind his retinas, and Harry was kidding himself when he thought he had a handle on this.

“You know what you want and you know how to get it. It’s easy for you. You’re nice because it gets you what you want. You’d be mean if that would do it.” Louis says, giving him a critical eye, ratty red converse tapping on the floor like he’s impatient with life.

“Maybe I’m just not a shitty person.” Harry replies, because sure he usually gets what he wants and he is fairly nice, but that’s not why. He’s nice because he likes it when people smile, because he just likes people. “Maybe you’re seeing the worst in me because that’s what you want to see in yourself.”

Louis just stares at him, that strange look that he had on his face right before he left, the one he wore when he told Harry that he was sweet. He wants Louis to say that again. “It would be easier to leave you alone if I could believe you were a shitty person.”

Harry pulls his lips ring into his mouth, letting it slide back out again. A nervous habit. “If I asked you to take me home could you say no?”

Louis sighs softly, looking down at the keys and twinkling out a few notes. “Probably not.”

“Do you want me to ask you?” Harry asks, because he wants to. Wants to feel the rush of veela magic and the slide of Louis’ lips on his and he wants to break him down and drown in him. 

“I can’t answer that.” Louis replies, tapping a rhythm on his jeans. 

“Then ask me.” Harry smiles, taking a small step forward. “It’ll be easier to hate yourself for it if it’s your fault.”

Louis smiles then, that feral grin he’s come to like. “You know me so well.”

Harry just waits.

“Come home with me.”

Harry nods after a quick moment, like he could even say no if he wanted to. “Okay.”

Harry pays for his strings and puts his guitar back in the case, and Liam is looking at him like he’s amused and a little confused so Harry gives him his best comforting smile. “See you next time, Li.”

“Bye, Harry.” Liam sits back into his chair, picking his acoustic up from its spot and cradling it in his lap. “See you.”

Harry picks up his guitar case in one hand, heading over to where Louis is sitting at the piano, playing that same piece again, the same hook.

“Ready?”

Louis nods, standing up and holding his hand out. Harry moves to take it, to thread their fingers like at the show, but Louis just wraps their pinkies together, pulling him back out through the door. Harry follows, lets Louis lead him into the alley, and Harry has to use all of his strength not to push him against the wall in some wave of deja vu.

“Put your arms around me.” Louis says, standing so they’re nose to nose, his breath ghosting across Harry’s face. He can see the faint black smudges of leftover makeup underneath his eyes, a tiny speck of glitter on his top lid, and he likes how it makes him look just less than perfect. Louis is fantastic when he’s on top of the world but he’s just as beautiful when he’s soft and not quite put together right.

Harry nods, using the arm that isn’t in charge of his guitar to wrap around Louis’ shoulders, tugging him to his chest as Louis slips his arms around Harry’s waist, resting his nose in the cotton of Harry’s tee shirt. 

Harry stares at the brickwork, trying to hold on to some smidgen of composure as he holds the smaller boy, his heart fluttering in his chest like a tiny hummingbird, glittering wings beating against the cage. 

“Your breathing is all ragged.” Louis observes, shaking his head when Harry opens his mouth to protest. He tucks his head into Harry’s shoulder. “Hold on tight.”

And then they’ve left the alley, their bodies pulled inwards and outwards again, through everything and nothing at all so the only thing Harry is truly aware of his how Louis feels in his arms. It’s rather okay.

They come to a dizzying halt in what Harry can only presume to be the front room of Louis’ apartment. It’s light and pristine, all white walls and wood floors and it isn’t what Harry was expecting, but neither is Louis.

“Do you live alone?” Harry asks, setting his guitar down with a soft thump, shucking off his shoes in the entryway. 

“Is this your way of discreetly asking if I have friends?” Louis asks with a crooked grin, the crystal snake bites underneath his lip pulling with the movement. 

“No.” Harry replies, though he is a little bit curious. “It’s my way of discreetly asking if anyone will be upset if I kiss you.”

Louis reaches for Harry’s hands, interlocking their pinkies once more as he leads him to the couch, pressing him down onto the squishy navy cushion. “No one will be upset if you kiss me.”

Harry smiles up at him, letting his fingers rest tentatively on Louis waist. “Good.”

Louis reaches down, cupping his cheek in one hand just like the first time, letting out a happy little murmur when Harry pushes into his hand. “See you have an excuse.” He says, pushing his fingers against skin, one finger finding the hollow behind Harry’s ear, thumb resting on his bottom lip. “I’m the veela. The siren. You aren’t supposed to be able to stay away.” 

Louis slides his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, moving gracefully so he’s straddling Harry’s thighs. “But what’s my excuse?”

“I don’t have an answer for you.” Harry replies, low voice filling the silence, because he wishes he had a reason for Louis to want him but he really doesn’t. Everyone else has, but that’s not a reason. He doesn’t completely understand that either.

“Neither do I.” Louis says, and then kisses him slow, letting their mouths fit together just like before. It’s different without the buzz of alcohol but not worse, just clearer, like he can feel every emotion sharp in his chest. Louis kisses like it’s the most important thing in the world, pinning Harry up against the couch with his slim body and curling his fingers up in Harry’s hair.

Harry doesn’t know how he kisses, but he knows that he wants to kiss Louis forever, and then more after that. He runs his hands up underneath the cotton of Louis’ tee shirt just like the first time, sliding it up so he can feel the skin there, the curve of his hips and the hard knobs of his spine.

Kissing Louis is a special kind of dangerous, because it’s when their lips touch that he realizes he’d do anything Louis asked him to, that Louis could do whatever he wanted with him and he’d beg for it in the end. 

He’s having trouble breathing, having trouble figuring out what to do with his body, so he pulls back and tries to catch his breath, letting Louis suck angry kisses against his jawline and to the skin of his neck. Louis is working at his shirt, pulling it up to his collarbone and kissing underneath the hem until Harry lifts his arms and lets him pull it unceremoniously off.

He remembers it being almost lazy last time, remembers Louis being calculated as he took Harry apart. It’s not like that now, more overwhelming in the half light, and Louis was like a god before and now he’s something worse, desperate with his fingers and his mouth and Harry just wants him more.

Louis presses him down so his back is against the seat, whipping his shirt off and returning his mouth to Harry’s, tangling his fingers hard in Harry’s curls, pulling at them as he slides down so Harry can feel the heat radiating off his body. He can see Louis’ sleeves better now, ink sliding across his biceps in black and blue swirls, he can watch as they move when the muscles in his arms do.

Harry shifts his hips upward, letting out a breathy half moan when he finds only empty air. He moves his hands down Louis’ back and onto his hips, pulling them down so he can get the smallest bit of friction.

Louis bites down hard on his lip at the movement, fingers yanking at his hair, but he doesn’t pull away, just grinds down harder. “I lied to you.” Louis says between kisses, the words gasped out like he needs to say them but he doesn’t quite have time.

Harry shakes his head, holding Louis tight and pulling him down into a kiss that leaves almost no room for oxygen. “Don’t care.”

Louis is the one to break it, frantic fingers coming to rest on Harry’s face, looking down at him with sharp gray eyes. “I did want to see you again. I don’t want-” He shakes his head, pressing his forehead against Harry’s like he can’t stand to be not be touching him. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want you.”

Harry pushes back up for another quick brush of lips, and he’s torn because he wants to kiss Louis senseless but he also wants to hear his voice, listen to the light velvet tones and the places where it cracks and slides. “Never thought that.”

Louis gives a bobbing nod, kissing him again, hands coming back into his hair where they belong, rutting their hips together in some vague approximation of a rhythm. Harry tries to get his pants open, getting only his button undone before giving up and settling for pulling Louis against him with strong hands.

It’s strange, because part of Harry wants to close his eyes and just lose himself in the kiss, but he keeps finding them sliding open trying to catch a glimpse of long black eyelashes or half lidded gray eyes. 

Louis gets one knee between Harry’s legs and he stops really thinking altogether, grinding his hips hard against Harry’s as their lips fall into an open mouthed kiss, finesse beyond their reach. 

Louis is making these soft little keening noises and they’re making Harry’s hands shake because he wants him so much closer than he can have him, and so he buries his head in Louis’ shoulder and tries to suppress the moans that are building in his throat. 

Louis is murmuring in his low velvet tones, a frantic litany of Harry’s name and it’s making his blood race like fire, making him cruel with his hands as he tugs Louis down against him, wanting somehow to pull all of those awful noises out of his bitten red lips. It’s a game, its always been, but Harry is beginning to wonder if Louis really wanted to win in the first place.

He’s not sure what winning is. 

He digs his fingers into the soft skin of Louis’ back, the curve where his hips jut out, gasping out a curse as Louis pulls at his hair, broken gasps falling from his lips and into Harry’s mouth as he shivers over the edge. He’s dizzy with it, the afternoon light and Louis’ body and he’s coming with a low moan he can’t keep in. 

Louis collapses onto his chest, their breath slowing in erratic hops and jumps. Louis is small suddenly, not composed, not broken, just small in Harry’s arms and he likes that, likes the way he can tuck other boy to his collarbone and hold him but still feel covered by him. 

“So was it like you remembered?” Louis says after he gets his breath back but before Harry is ready to break the moment. “Still enjoying the novelty of it? Am I still interesting?” Harry thinks it’s meant to come out debonair, but with his legs between Harry’s and his voice still breathy it just sounds sad.

Harry doesn’t know what to say, where to put the words he’s feeling, because Louis thinks his allure in his newness, in the unique quality of holding the siren song in his blood. He doesn’t think there’s anything in him that would make anyone want to stay.

“I wrote an album about you.” Harry says before he can wonder if that’s something people say, his voice rushed and hoarse and wrong in his mouth. “I wrote you a whole album.”

“Oh.” Then, quieter, “Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re interesting.” Harry replies, thinking of the nights he spent on the tile with his guitar in his lap, the green glow of a cigarette and the tattoos snaking Louis’ body burning into his brain. “You ruined me for a while.”

“I do tend to do that.” Louis says, breathing against the crook of Harry’s neck. “Ruin things.”

“Me too.” Harry replies, smiling down at Louis in the hope that maybe he’ll smile back. “I guess if things aren’t meant to be ruined, what are they there for?”

“Maybe you’re supposed to try and love them.” Louis replies simply, and he won’t look at Harry, but Harry can see the outline of his features and the top of his head and he thinks if anyone is meant to be loved, it’s Louis. He wants that. He wants permission to love him.

“I thought you didn’t believe in love.” Harry says, because he wrote that song, he knows it, even though he doesn’t like it, doesn’t want to believe it.

Harry strokes a hand down Louis’ back while he waits for him to reply, noticing a tattoo there he hadn’t before. It’s a tiny jellyfish starting up by his right shoulder, lithe tentacles curling down around his shoulder and past his spine, tiny feathery strands that cut down across his back and melt into his sleeve. “I don’t, but it’s a lovely story isn’t it? That you could care that much about something. That you could love someone, that they could love you.”

Harry nods slowly, beginning to understand. It’s not so much that Louis doesn’t believe in love, but that he’s afraid to, afraid that maybe it is just a story, that he’ll never find it. That even if he did, it would be in a language he could never learn to speak.

And he doesn’t know what to say to that, because its not that he’s in love with Louis, but he thinks he might want to be, that maybe he wants to see him again, learn what makes him tick and makes him smile. He’s never really seen him smile, not like at the bar, with sharp teeth and shiny eyeliner, but like he doesn’t care about a single thing, not anything at all.

“Louis?” 

Louis looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes with his own. Harry wonders when he’s going to get up, and thinks he doesn’t really want him to. 

“Yes?”

“I want to see you again.” And suddenly he feels like the one who is small, because he can’t fuck this up. He can’t let Louis go this time, with an almost kiss and a puff of smoke.

Louis sighs, reaching up so his fingers wrap around Harry’s shoulder, and it feels like he’s apologizing for something. “I left the first night because I didn’t want this to happen.”

“I want it to happen.” Harry says, stubbornly, like a child.

“I think you should go.” Louis replies as he sits up, trailing reluctant hands across Harry’s biceps.

“I don’t want to.” Harry says, but he doesn’t stop Louis from sliding off of him, picking his wand up from where it landed on the floor, cleaning both of them up with a flick of his wrist. His hair is a mess, golden skin dun in the afternoon light, shadows falling across the planes of his body. 

“Don’t do this.” Louis responds, pulling his shirt back on, refusing to look at Harry. He’s calm, cool and collected where minutes ago he was falling apart, letting Harry in. 

“Don’t do what?” Harry asks, sitting up. “Don’t fight for you?”

“Don’t turn this into something it’s not.” Louis replies, heading over to his dining room table, fingers fluttering like he’s looking for something to put them on.

“I’m not turning it into anything.” Harry replies, and he can feel this, whatever it is, slipping out of his reach. He wishes holding onto Louis wasn’t so much like holding a sparrow in his hands, that he wasn’t so afraid of breaking his fragile bones, so afraid of him flying away.

“Yes you are.” Louis replies, nervous fingers landing on a pack of cigarettes, fumbling with them for a moment before he’s able to get one out. “This isn’t a romance novel or some dumb movie. You can’t sweep me off my feet and save me just by being a persistent dick.”

“Am I supposed to sweep you off your feet and save you by leaving you alone, because I can do that too.” Harry replies, picking at the rips in his jeans. 

“You aren’t supposed to sweep me off my feet at all.” Louis replies, lighting the cigarette with his wand and taking a drag like the smoke is oxygen.

“You told me you wanted me.” Harry says, and it sounds pleading, stupid and entreating in his mouth. “You did lie to me.”

“I do want you.” He’s going cold, frost in his gaze and a chill on his fingertips. “That doesn’t mean I want a relationship. Sorry.”

“I just thought-” He stops, twisting his fingers in his lap, and he regrets this, regrets letting Louis do this this to him, and hates how disappointed he feels. Hates that he let himself hope at all. “I wanted to care about you. You said no one would, but I wanted to.” He looks down, heading over to his shoes and pulling them on, because he’ll leave if Louis wants him to.

“It’s not as simple as that.” Louis says, leaning up against the wall, his one arm pressed against his chest like he’s holding his lungs in. He’s beautiful, so beautiful and fragile and Harry just wants to touch him again, because he’s already forgetting how his skin feels.

Harry shrugs, picking up his guitar and trying not to think about how much he wants to cry. It feels like rejection, even though Louis never promised him anything. He thinks the promise was implied. “It could be.”

But this time, he’s the one who apparates out with a crack, an almost kiss and a puff of smoke, before Louis can get the last word, before he can say more terrible things. 

And it shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are literally so appreciated its kindof insane.


End file.
